On both sides of this mountain road
Our village
Draws, every day, one familiar view
Deep in light-line solitude of the morning
Fable-stream-seed of birth
Come and come back in the profound grief
In my unknown history
The vacant person inclines on the ground
Piercing the silence, spread and rowed
Of the long domes, besides the crematorium
Any one truth; half-truth or the mythical philosophy
Makes the land of rough and arid stone, immortal
In the night of moonlight
Thereafter, the loving glands
Free up my entity
I see, at the mountain lap
The horizon sinks in place
Buddha is very near
In our womb-house, in eternal impulse
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem